Ante
by TheGirlWithTheDinosaurTattoo
Summary: We have heard about hunting monsters from the hunter's perspective for too long. Now, it's the monsters' turn to tell the tales. Set on the Winchester Ranch timeline; find out what it's like being the one that's hunted.
1. Chapter 1

::Hey everyone! I hope everything is going well for you and if it's not, take a deep breath and know that you're stronger than the situation.

I've got a little something fun for you here, told from a completely different perspective. I've been working on this idea for awhile now, and finally had the chance to put it into action. It follows and comes next on the Winchester Ranch timeline, but it's with some OC characters and some Supernatural characters. It's still a lot of fun, so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for your reads and follows. Please review let me know what you think!

love and internetty hugs,

TheGirlWithTheDinosaurTattoo::

I do not own SPN or any of its characters, but by Chuck, I do love to dabble.

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Chapter 1

The smoke hung in the air like a fog, making it difficult for the waitress to see the entire table. There were men and women surrounding the large, round poker table, some with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, some with the ash trays full in front of them. Everyone had a hand of cards, waiting patiently for the next person to ante up.

"Another round, y'all?" she asked, waving the smoke from her eyes.

Collectively, the table glanced up, nodding slightly.

"How about I'll tell you when to stop, honey," a gruff voice answered, staring at the cards in his hands. "We're just gettin' started, here."

The waitress pressed her lips into a hard smile, trying to keep her enthusiasm up, with the hopes that one of the regulars would end up being a good tipper tonight. Working at this particular truck stop was not a very rewarding career.

Pete's was just another stop along the highway, near the northern most United States border in Grand Marais, Minnesota. From the outside, it looked like a perfectly normal truck stop, complete with a seasonal wash, only open between April and September each year. On the inside, it was filled with sparse décor complete with a stuffed moose, large, bearded men, sprinkled with the occasional woman, coated in a layer of grease, cigarette smoke, and destitution. It wasn't a place you wanted to spend your days. The poker table in the corner of the main room was always occupied by the same rotating characters.

Pete, the owner of the truck stop, was seated in his usual spot in the corner, looking out to the rest of the restaurant and bar, dealing the cards for the never-ending game of five-card draw. He smiled at the waitress and winked, "Thanks, Holly," he muttered. "We're good for now."

"Alright, then, Pete," Holly replied, tucking her graying hair behind her ear. "Lemme know what you need."

The large, hairy man leaned back into his seat, sighing heavily. "I'm out," he grumbled, throwing his cards to the table. "I'm so fuckin' tired of losing."

Looking up at the large man sitting across from him, Pete chuckled. "You've had a rough week, there, haven't you, Glenn."

"Hell yeah, I have," Glenn answered, shaking his head and rubbing his face with both hands. His knuckles were scabbed and there were two large gashes on his arm and face. "That hunter down in Livingston almost had me."

A few of the men around the table glanced up, mildly interested in what Glenn had to say. "Hunter?" one of them asked. "As in just one?"

"I don't like your tone, Eddie," Glenn replied, lifting a single eyebrow. "Sounds pretty judgmental to me."

Eddie suppressed a grin, staring back down at his cards. "Not sayin' nothin'," he answered, "but come on, Glennie boy. A big, bad vampire versus a lone hunter? Sounds like a fight you should have been on top of, no problem."

"She was stronger than I thought," Glenn muttered.

Eddie slammed his hand down onto the poker table, forcing the chips to bounce in place. "She!" he guffawed. "You got your ass handed to you by a _female_ hunter?"

Glenn tossed his cards down on the table, "I don't have to take this, man," he began, making the move to stand. "Some kinda bullshit."

"Sit down, Glenn," Bertie called, smiling. "Eddie don't mean nothing. We all got our survival stories."

Glenn turned to click his tongue at the older woman, shaking his head disappointedly. "Keep control of your mate, will you, Bert?"

Bertie clicked her tongue and added a chip to the pile. "Eddie controls Eddie. I control me," she stared over her cards at Glenn across the table. "Ante up, boys. I gotta hand to play."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Tell us more about this hunter you met down in Livingston, Glennie," Eddie demanded, leaning back into his seat and glancing at Pete. "Sounds like we might need to avoid the area."

"Y'all don't need to be avoiding nothing," Glenn replied, running a hand through his hair as he flicked his eyes up to Holly, who had brought another round of drinks for the table. "Thanks, Hol," he muttered, absentmindedly. "This woman had been tracking me for about a week," he began his story quietly, rubbing his knuckles thoughtfully. "Turns out she was a hunter. Traveling alone." Glenn flicked his eyes towards his audience, lifting his eyebrow dramatically. "Didn't know at first. Thought about tagging her for a good meal or two."

"You were hunting humans in a town?" Bertie chastised, shaking her head. "You know better, Glenn. The humans are getting too aware. Believe too many stories, nowadays. They're too with it."

Glenn rolled his eyes, "It's easy for you to say, Bert," he growled. "You and Eddie…you only have to deal with this shit once a full moon. Try havin' that burn twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five. You're never satisfied…not without human blood anyway."

Roger and Nannette nodded slowly from the other side of the poker table. "It's harder than the movies make it look," Roger commented offhandedly. "We tried going legit, you know? Tried cows and deer, shit like that." Nannette shook her head and pressed her lips together, agreeing with her mate. "It just makes the burn hotter."

Glenn took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, holding his cards against the table. "Anyway, she tailed me to the end of town, shot me full of what she thought was dead-man's blood…" He pressed his lips together and shook his head, almost looking disappointed. "She got some bad info, 'cause that shit wasn't it. Stung a bit but didn't put me down."

Leaning forward on the palms of her hands, Bertie tilted her head interestedly. "What happened next?"

Having the attention of the table, Glenn tucked his cards against his chest and grinned, excited about having an audience. "This hunter bitch tags me from behind, right? Thinks she's got herself some dead-man's blood and gets me in the neck. I stumble and hit the ground, but nothing happens to me, 'cept I'm a little dizzy. She comes up behind me," Glenn smiled, holding back the climax of the story just long enough to get the table to beg. "She stabs me in the leg with this silver blade and I clock her across the face and knocked her down. She gets her bearings and is on her feet, slashin' my face and my arms…gets me twice, here." Glenn pointed to his cheek, gesturing with his cards. "'Fore she knows it, I've got her pinned against a wall and get a whiff of that pulse. Man," Glenn shook his head and smiled down at his cards, tossing three chips into the pile. "Couldn't help but sink my teeth into her pretty little neck."

Eddie nodded eagerly, tossing in three poker chips, glancing at his cards and taking a deep breath in through his nose. "They say a hunter tastes a bit sweeter," he commented. "The adrenaline they're always hyped up on makes 'em a bit tastier."

"Well, this one was sweet," Glenn agreed at he watched Eddie toss in two additional chips to raise the pot. "Closest I've come in a while to gettin' beat." He leaned back into his chair and raised his arm, rubbing the back of his large, thick neck slowly. "Them silver blades are like hot fire."

Nannette and Roger glanced at each other before Roger leaned forward, eager to join in the story telling. "We had a run in not too long ago outside of Phoenix," he began, smiling wistfully. "Group of hunters."

"A group?" Pete asked, lifting his gray, bushy eyebrow and taking a long draw of his cigarette. "How many?"

Shrugging with one arm, Roger shook his head, "I dunno, five or six," he sighed. "Too many to take on alone and too many to lose in a chase. Nannie was there with me and I was this close to losing her, too." He held up his index finger and his thumb closely to demonstrate.

"We had been feeding on the homeless population there," Nannette explained, turning her hand of cards over and giving up with a click of her tongue. She tucked one of her loose braids behind her ear and flicked her dark eyes towards Glen. "They're easy to disappear."

"So I've heard," he agreed.

…

"There's no nest," the youngest hunter whispered, watching the lone, female vampire through the scope of his rifle. "They're living out of their car."

"You sure?"

Miguel took a deep breath and stared through the scope again, shaking his head, forcing his sleek, black hair to fall into his face. "Yeah, I'm sure," he snapped. "Look at this. There's a layer of shit in the back seat. Clothes, hats, towels. Then you've got soda cups and more trash in the front floor. They're pigs."

Holding out his hand, Santiago Adaka'i waited for his little brother to pass the scope. "That just doesn't make any sense," Santi whispered, mostly to himself. "There are too many missing for it _not_ to be a coven."

Miguel shrugged half-heartedly. "Maybe they've learned how to milk them and store them, long term."

"If they're living out of their car, where are they storing the blood?"

Sighing heavily, Miguel rolled his eyes. "I was kidding, Santi. Ay dios mio. Lighten up."

Santiago stood slowly and handed the scope back to his brother. "I'm going home. If you want to keep tracking them, be my guest, but you're going to need the rest of the cousins with you if you think you're hunting them. We're low on silver and don't have the cash to restock."

"Fine," Miguel replied, lifting the scope back to his eye. "I'm telling you, there's no way there's a coven. They haven't been anywhere else besides their car. Not today, anyway." He glanced at Santi one last time, watching his big brother close his eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath of the crisp, dry, desert air. "We could always give the Browning girls a call, see if they've got some silver to share, considering they seem to be out of the game a bit."

Santiago shook his head, still with his eyes closed. "You could think of a different reason to call Serendipity besides wanting to bum silver off her," he murmured. "They've got enough to worry about without you trying to con them out of valuables." Santi opened his eyes and turned to climb down the ladder that was attached to the fire escape on the top of the pueblo-shaped apartment buildings. "Keep an eye on those two. I'll talk to Rosa when I get home and see if the rest of them want to go hunting tomorrow."

Miguel smiled ironically and held the scope to his face again, trying not to roll his eyes, "Si, si, lo que sea."

"And don't call the Brownings unless it's to flirt with Serendipity without asking for silver."

…

Roger smiled at the group of men and women surrounding the poker table as he threw another chip into the pile. "Call," he muttered, taking a deep breath as the table laid down their cards, showing their hands. "Shit," he whispered as Pete grinned, showing off a large set of fangs.

Leaning forward to collect his bounty, Pete chuckled. "Not today, kids," he said, stacking up his chips into neat piles. "Alright," he continued, staring at Roger, "so you've got the Adaka'i boys on your tail. How'd you manage to lose them?"

Nannette smiled, her wide, white teeth showing brightly against her dark skin. "We didn't lose them," she explained quietly. "They tracked us for days, watched every move we made through that desert town."

"How were you storing the blood?" Eddie asked, mildly curious.

"We weren't," the female vampire replied, taking the stacks of cards and neatly shuffling them once again. "We were just hungry, especially considering it had been weeks since we had fed properly. The city of Phoenix should have been thanking us, taking care of their crack addicts and drunks. The criminals. The meth heads." Nannette glanced at Roger lovingly. "It was the best string of meals we had ever had…except for the heroin addicts. They're full of chemicals and taste…bitter."

Roger nodded in agreement. "And they're twitchy," he added. "I don't like taking them down."

"Finish the story about the Adaka'is. How many of them did you kill?" Eddie asked, taking his new pile of cards and inspecting them carefully. "Is that when they lost Miguel?"

Shaking his head, Roger lit another cigarette. "No," he answered blandly. "I gave it my best, but I heard the Southern coven took him in Atlanta later that year."

"Hard to keep track of all of the assholes," Glenn added, rolling a pretzel between his fingers. "How'd you get out of Phoenix?"

Nannette took over, smiling wickedly. "One night, they followed us to the train depot, where we had been deliberating on having a last meal before moving on. I could hear their footsteps, I could taste their pulse. They had been close all day…too close for comfort." She reached over to her mate's hand and clasped it tightly. "After Roger took down one of the drifters, we got frenzied, lost in the bloodlust. We lost track of where the Adaka'is were. The next thing I knew, one of them was swinging a machete at my face," she lifted her braids away from the right side of her cheek. "Thing was made of silver and caught me across the jaw. Gashed me open so far, I thought my face would fall off."

The other monsters at the table leaned forward to inspect her scars; Eddie made a face and leaned away once he had his fill. "You let them slash up your girl, Rog?"

"I lost my shit," Roger continued, shaking his head. "Went completely nuts and attacked the older brother, bent on drinking the blood right out of his eyes or something. That kid was quick though—agile and light on his feet. He took a couple of swipes at me with that silver machete and got me across the shoulder and hands." Roger held out his fingers, showing the bright white lines across his arms and palms. "Glenn's right, that shit burns. All I could think was that I had to get Nannie out of there, keep her safe and figure out a way to get healed up."

Eddie ran a hand through his bushy, dark hair. "Don't you fangs heal faster than normal? Like almost immediately?"

"Not when it comes to a silver wound," Roger muttered. "Burns our skin away. It festers."

"We barely made it out alive," Nannette finished, shuddering. "Left our car and all of our things. Ran for days, making sure the Adaka'is wouldn't follow."

"Did they?" Pete asked quietly.

Nannette's dark eyes flicked to the truck stop owner. "Yes," she whispered. "They tracked us as far as Williams, but finally lost them up in the mountains." She gripped Roger's hand once again. "It's something I never want to experience again."

"Since then, we've stayed out of the limelight, only hunting one or two people per town," Roger took a deep breath. "The hunters just aren't worth it. It's why we're so far north, trying to avoid any unwanted attention."

Pete flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the tray in front of his poker chips. "One of the reasons I built up here," he commented. "Grand Marais is out of the way, but still gets me enough business to survive. You kids have done good, spreading the word to just our kind, keeping it away from everyone else."

The waitress approached slowly, refilling water and emptying ashtrays as she made her way around the table. She clicked her tongue. "It's easy for all y'all," Holly muttered, her voice hoarse from years of smoking and serving. "Fangs and wolves have got it easy when it comes to blaming something else on your kills. Hunters have a harder time nailing down if you're you."

All eyes turned to watch Holly carefully.

"And what are you?" Nannette asked quietly.

Holly pursed her lips. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she answered, turning back towards the swinging doors of the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Paul Caruso crouched lower, squinting through the space between the curtain and the window frame, attempting to see through the glare of the streetlight that reflected off the motel window. "I can't see much," he whispered into his walkie. "Doesn't mean she's not in there."

"Just hang there a minute," his partner whispered. "She went in the building about twenty minutes ago. She's in there somewhere."

"Maybe she's having a snack?" Peter Hillenbrand giggled, laughing at his own joke. The hunter took another swing from his hip flask and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, making a face as the alcohol burned his throat on the way down.

Paul rolled his eyebrows. "You're a riot," he muttered, shaking his head. "Stay sober long enough to keep me alive, will you?"

"I'm fine," Peter whispered back. "If you're so unnerved by something as easy as a wraith, maybe you ought not be a hunter, Caruso."

Taking a deep breath, Paul sighed heavily. "If you were there the last time I dealt with a wraith, you'd understand."

"That the time where the Brownings saved your ass?" the elder of the hunters chuckled. "Those little girls came out of nowhere and saved your hide, tied to a chair?"  
Paul clicked his tongue, annoyed. "Tru was there, too," he replied.

"That little one took the kill shot, though," Peter reminded him. "What's her name? Serenity?"

"Serendipity," Paul corrected, peeking in through the window again. "She hates it though."

Hillenbrand took another swig from the flask and burped loudly, making a face. "Oh, man," he muttered, "Tacos were not the way to go last night." He brought the binoculars up to his face and continued through the mic to his walkie talkie. "Serendipity Browning," he sighed. "She's a piece. And her sister…Grace?"

Paul pursed his lips as he thought about his former lover. "What about her?"

"I'd sure like to see what's under that leather," he drawled, the bourbon hitting his bloodstream. "We've got movement in the room next door," Peter added. "We might get a chance after all."

Moving to the edge of the gravel in the garden, Paul adjusted his silver blade as he crept closer to the edge of the rocks. The second window lit as the room lights came on and the curtains danced into place as someone adjusted the air conditioner from inside. Paul was able to catch movement before the black out curtains fell into place. There she was: the wraith that the pair had been hunting for the last three days.

She was on the older side, closer to fifty than forty, still attractive, and very deadly. She worked under quite a few names, Paul had found out, and her best kills were when she went by the name 'Holly'. As a working girl, she managed to live off her Johns, getting them comfortable enough to think they were getting lucky, and then sucking their brains dry through the dagger in her wrist. It was a messy business and Paul hesitated when he figured out what kind of monster she was. He hated wraiths most of all, ever since that day in the forest.

"I had a visual, Hilly," Paul whispered into his mic.

"Had?" Peter asked, sitting up a little straighter in the seat in his truck. "Meaning you don't anymore?"

Paul shook his head, "The curtains are closed tight now, but I caught a glimpse of her as she turned on the AC. She's in there with another John."

"You ready to move?"

Taking a deep breath, Paul nodded. "Yeah, as ready as I'm gonna be."

Hillenbrand jumped out of the truck silently and jogged to where Paul was crouching. "She doesn't know we're here. We can get the jump on her and be back at that bar with Erica before the moon rises."

"Erica?"

"Wasn't that her name? Emily? Erica?"

Paul was shaking his head as he turned the silver blade over in his hands. "Emma," he corrected. "If you're going to hit on a woman, call her by her own name. At least pretend you were paying attention."

Hillenbrand chuckled. "Well, waiting on you now," he muttered, headed towards the open door to the hall where Holly's motel room was.

Falling into step next to his hunting partner, Paul shook his head. "I'm not hunting with you anymore," he murmured. "You're too high risk."

"Eh, promises, promises," Peter answered, readying his blade. "Come on, Emma's waiting for me."

The men jogged to the hall where the wraith's room was, listened against the door long enough to know it was her, and stood back, taking a deep breath. "Whenever you're ready, Hilly," Paul muttered, gesturing to the door.

Suppressing a grin, Peter leaned back and kicked the motel room door open, brandishing his large, silver knife. "Hey, sweetheart," he greeted as Holly froze in place, the dagger creeping out of her wrist towards her next victim. "Sorry to interrupt."

Holly screeched in frustration, letting her victim drop to the floor, unconscious. Peter took the first swipe with the silver blade, missing her, but just barely. He turned and smiled, allowing the bourbon to force him into a second step backwards. Tilting her head, Holly smiled, sensing his weakness.

She attacked, using the thick bone needle from her wrist as a weapon, going for the hunter's face. He shifted to the left, taking one of her shoulders and dragging her into facing Paul, shrieking as Peter stumbled yet again.

"Take her, Paul!" Peter shouted, holding the wraith against his chest, pinning her arms against her sides and wrestling her into a heart-exposed position. "Right into the heart."

Hesitating out of fear, Paul shook his head, almost dropping his silver blade. Holly saw the fear in the hunter's eyes and smiled; perhaps today would not be her last.

She screamed again, wriggling free of the other hunter's grip and sliced him across the face with her bone needle. Paul managed to regain his footing and stabbed Holly in the shoulder, forcing her to drop to her knees in agony, but she continued to fight, slashing at Peter's knees and stabbing him through one of his boots, trapping his foot to the ground. He screamed in pain, falling to the floor and distracting Paul long enough for her to scramble to her feet and bolt for the door.

Throwing the silver blade end over end towards her head out of frustration, Paul dove to his friend, putting pressure on the top of his wounded foot and shoulder. The wraith left both men bleeding and swearing, but it bought her enough time to escape through the broken emergency exit door in the back of the sketchy motel and disappear into the night.

…

Holly rubbed the scars across the tops of her arm absentmindedly as she waited for another round of drinks from the bartender. Everyone had their own story.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Eddie took a long drag from his twelfth cigarette of the night, then tapping the ashes onto the pile of butts in the ashtray in front of him. "Deal the damn cards, Pete," he growled, scratching the side of his jaw with a long, dark, and jagged fingernail.

"I'll deal when I'm good and ready," Pete shot back, shuffling the deck again. "If you don't like it, the door's behind you."

Rolling his eyes and leaning into the back of his chair, Eddie tapped his cigarette again. Bertie leaned over and scratched the back of Eddie's scalp tenderly, getting a content grumble from her mate.

"Aw, look, the dog likes being petted," Glenn chuckled, glancing up at the pair.

Roger shook his head, trying not to smile. "You gotta death wish or something, man?" he asked, shaking his head.

"What, you think I should be afraid of the big, bad wolf?" Glenn asked, lifting his eyebrows and lighting a cigarette of his own. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Clicking his tongue, Roger glanced at his wife, who smiled gently in reply, "Another dumb fang," he sighed.

"Insulting your own kind, now, huh?" Glenn asked, flicking his cigarette ashes onto the floor. "Where do you get off? Think Eddie's tougher than us?"

"No," Roger smiled, glancing down as Pete finally dealt the new hand of cards. "I just think he's tougher than _you_."

"The fuck you say," Glenn spat, making the move to get up from his chair.

Pete didn't even look up, "Sit down, boy."

Obeying, Glenn sat, but still stared at Roger threateningly, but Roger stared back, seemingly unperturbed. Slowly, Glenn refocused his anger on Eddie, who had just finished cigarette number twelve and was stubbing it out in the pile of others in the ash tray. He took a ragged breath and reached for Bertie's hand, who took it and stroked it with her thumb reassuringly.

Staring through the jet-black hair that hung into his eyes, Eddie glared at Glenn. "When you watch your entire family get murdered by a pair of hunters, yeah," he began quietly. "You end up being a little tougher than the average werewolf."

The table silenced, waiting for Eddie to continue. When he didn't immediately, Glenn asked in a hushed voice, "A pair?"

Eddie's dark eyes flicked towards the vampire, still staring through the wisps of black hair. "You heard me," he answered.

"Who?" Glenn pressed, leaning forward over his hand of cards. "And how many in your pack?"

Bertie took a deep breath through her teeth and held it, biding her time before answering. "There were eleven of us all together. We lived in the Black Hills, hunting anyone who came close enough to be picked off. Some animals, but mostly vagrants." She hesitated, glancing at her mate. "Eddie's brother got a little…enthusiastic about hunting about a decade back."

"Meaning he picked off enough people to get himself noticed," Glenn shook his head. "Stupid."

"We've all done it," Bertie chastised. "We've all lost control at one point or another. Simon just happened to lose control at the very wrong time."

"They were coming through town to get supplies," Eddie muttered, shaking his head. "They weren't even in town to stay. That little red Toyota wasn't supposed to be a hunter's car; it stood out too much."

Flicking his eyes to Pete for confirmation that it was the hunters he thought they were, Glenn lifted one of his eyebrows. Pete nodded once without looking up.

"Simon didn't know," Bertie sighed, staring at her cards. "She hadn't had it that long. Word hadn't gotten around yet that they weren't driving that busted-ass Chevelle."

Nannette and Roger exchanged meaningful glances. "Wait," Nannie gasped lightly, covering her mouth with one of her hands. "You're talking about the Browning Sisters."

Clenching his jaw together, Eddie didn't need to confirm the thought aloud.

"Holy hell," Glenn leaned back into his seat and held his cards against his leg as he wrapped his mind around it. He had been one of the lucky ones; a monster that had never had a run-in with Grace and Serendipity Browning. He had heard stories about the sisters…stuff that he was convinced was made up; the stuff of legend. Hearing the reverence in Eddie's tone of voice confirmed the rumors he had heard for over a decade.

The Brownings were terrifying.

Eddie took a deep breath and ran his clawed fingers through his long, black hair, pushing it from his face, if only temporarily. "Simon shifted earlier than me. He liked it, liked the feeling of chaos when he went completely wolf. It was addicting to him."

"He'd mark it on the calendar when he thought he'd be able to push himself into shifting completely," Bertie continued. "He'd go after assholes in town, pick fights with truckers or motorcycle gangs coming through, just for the excuse to fight."

Nodding, Eddie sighed. "Simon shifted one night and headed into town without any of us knowing. He caught wind of that tall blonde bitch as she pumped her gas and tracked her to the motel where she and her sister were staying the night. It's like they knew he was there before he even had the thought." Eddie lit another match, sticking another cigarette in his mouth and taking a long drag. "Not only were those bitches awake and waiting for my baby brother, but then they were able to follow his trail back to the house…back to where everyone else was."

"We were hunting in the hills and didn't know what was happening," Bertie continued. "The only reason we're alive is because we weren't there."

…

"My card won't work," Grace Browning muttered to her sister Serra as she leaned down to speak through the driver's side window. "I'm gonna go inside."

Serra didn't even glance up. "Banana chips," she answered, opening and closing the four-inch switch blade she held.

"We have snacks in the back," her sister answered, rolling her eyes. "I'm not buying you more."

Clicking her tongue, annoyed, Serra finally turned towards her sister. "We don't have banana chips!"

Without responding, Grace turned towards the gas station mini-mart and glided through the glass doors, disappearing into the store with her blonde hair trailing behind her. The aisles were empty, being so late into the night, and the register clerk barely looked up as she approached.

"The machine on seven won't read my card," Grace stated, tapping her fingers on the counter.

He reached up, still without looking up from his magazine. "How much?" he asked, his greasy, stringy hair falling into his face.

"Twenty," Grace sighed, glancing to her left and seeing a display of trail mix and banana chips. "And these," she added, shaking her head at her own annoyance as she tossed a bag of her sister's coveted snacks onto the counter.

The teenager behind the counter hit a few buttons on the register and sighed heavily. "Twenty-three, eighty-seven," he replied, finally making eye contact with the young woman. The teenager's dark brown eyes widened, taking her in, "Please," he muttered under his breath. "Twenty-three, eighty-seven, please."

Grace's right eyebrow arched as she tilted her head. "It's too late for niceties," she sighed, pushing her card towards the clerk. "Maybe try looking up from your smut once and awhile."

Taking her card back, Grace shoved it into the pocket of her jeans and moved towards the door. As she went to push the glass door open, she hesitated, her senses alive and prickling the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. Tilting her head and listening as hard as she could, Grace froze in place and waited.

From the little red Toyota's passenger seat, Serendipity turned in time to see her sister through the window, frozen in place. There were only two reasons that Grace would ever hesitate in the middle of an action: she was having a psychic vision or she sensed danger. Either way, Serra was out of the car and striding towards her sister to get a closer look. When Grace had a vision, she was helpless for the first two to three minutes right after it ended; usually unable to speak or move without assistance.

As she jogged towards the glass door, Serra suddenly caught wind of what had stopped her sister in her tracks: there was a scent on the breeze that she recognized; earthy and wet, heavy and suffocating. Turning to face her sister, she caught her eye and locked, both knowing what was coming.

Werewolves.

Grace opened the glass door of the mini-mart all the way, lowering her voice as Serra approached. "You smell what I smell?"

Nodding, Serra glanced up to the sky, looking for the moon. "It's too early, isn't it?"

Pressing her lips together, Grace shrugged. "I dunno, I heard that some can shift three or four days early," she whispered, taking Serra's elbow and leading her back into the parking lot. "Either way, that's a familiar scent and we don't have any silver."

Serra whipped around and tilted her head. "All the shit you've got in this car and you don't have any silver?"

"We aren't exactly rolling in dough, right now, Serendipity," Grace lectured. "We just got done with the ghoul hunt. I didn't expect to _run into_ werewolves on the way _home._"

"You should be prepared for anything," Serra whispered harshly at her sister, leaning across the hood of the Toyota to drive the point home. "Sometimes I get why Dad was always so mad at you."

"Me?" Grace replied, shoving the gas pump into her car. "What about you? You could take some responsibility, you know. According to your age, you are a fucking adult."

Suddenly, both women froze, whipping around to the sound of a car door slamming, somewhere in the darkness beyond what they could see. "There was a motel up the street, wasn't there?" Grace whispered, still staring into the night.

Nodding, Serra replied, "Yeah, about two blocks down. Do we get to hunt the wolves?"

Slowly, Grace turned to stare at her sister, "If they're scent is that strong, that means they're shifting and hunting. Sounds like a good reason to stay to me."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Pete reached forward, using both of his arms to gather the pile of poker chips that he had won in the last round of five card draw. "Y'all ain't payin' attention," he growled. "Gettin' sloppy."

Bertie tossed her cards onto the pile and shook her head sadly, "Oh, I'm sorry, Pete," she began. "I'm too busy reliving the murders of my entire family to pay attention to cards."

Following suit, Eddie threw his cards onto the pile as well. "She's got a point, Pete," he reiterated. "You all wanted to hear this fucking story."

Stacking his chips up neatly into columns, Pete lit another cigarette and nodded slowly. "You've got a point," he muttered. He glanced up to the waitress as she came around, gathering plates and glasses onto the tray she held. "Hol, grab a few plates of food, will you? Steaks and whiskey, or something." He looked around the table and took a deep drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his parted lips without removing it from his mouth. "The Brownings deserve more consideration than we're giving." He paused, making sure he had the table's attention, and lifted the curtain of gray hair that covered the left half of his face, exposing an area of scarred, burned flesh where his eye was almost scarred shut. "I know from experience."

The hush around the table spoke volumes. "You too, Pete?" Eddie asked, tilting his head. "At least you're still alive."

"I've been around for awhile," Pete answered, letting his hair fall back into his face. "Seen a lot of hunters. Managed to live through them all. We'll get to my stories," he explained, lowering his voice again. "You've got the stage, Ed. Make it good."

…

Grace closed the hatch to her car and turned to the darkness once more, holding her breath and trying to pick up on the sounds that were beyond her human senses. Serra had reloaded the Twins; her silver on black Colt forty-five automatics and put them back in her shoulder holsters, then loaded the thirty-eight and nine millimeters with as many rounds as she could.

"They're not silver," she muttered to her sister as they stood at the closed hatch. "All they're gonna do is piss 'em off."

Shrugging with one shoulder, Grace stared out into the black. "At least they wouldn't be hiding in the dark," she replied. "Alright, let's move. We know they're out here. We'll get to the motel and see if we can get our hands on some silver."

Without answering, Serra pivoted on the toe of her boot and headed back to the passenger seat. She sat with her guns in her hands, resting in her lap, ready and waiting for anything. Grace got in, started up her little red hatchback, and drove off into the night.

…

"There," Serra whispered, nodding across the parking lot as they unloaded the duffle bags and threw them into the motel room. Grace turned to see what she was pointing at. "Across the parking lot and near the tree line. There was movement."

Squinting, Grace pressed her lips together, forcing her dimples to show. "I see him," she answered, turning towards the door. "Keep moving," she continued, acting as if nothing was wrong. "Don't give us away."

"What, that we're gonna kill him?" Serra answered.

"Don't get cocky."

The Browning sisters unlocked the door, letting themselves in to the cold, bare motel room. The bed was low and deflated looking, with one pillow in the middle of a floral print comforter. There was a chair and a desk with a lamp on the far wall, and a television from the late nineties stood blandly on a simple table just on the inside of the door.

"God, I'm tired of being cold," Serra complained, headed immediately towards the air conditioner unit under the window. "There's heat, right? There's gotta be heat."

Staring across the parking lot from the sliver of an opening in the curtains, Grace shrugged. "Most likely," she answered. "It's February in Montana, so hopefully."

Leaving her sister to fiddle with the window unit, Grace turned to stare out the window again, extending her senses as much as she could, but she couldn't see anymore than she had seen before. "We're tired," she muttered, more to herself than Serra. "I don't want to go out there until we're rested and ready."

"I'm ready now," Serra spat. "I'll take him. I'm fine."

Rolling her eyes, Grace shook her head. "One of your eyes is blinking slower than the other. Sit your ass down and take off your boots. We're done for the night."

Serra clicked her tongue in defiance, but sat anyway, unzipping her moto boots and dumping them into a pile on the floor. "A shower does sound nice," she murmured. "Okay, fine."

…

"There's a pair of pretty girly hunters in town," Simon growled as he slammed the door shut, startling his family as they sat around the dining room table. "They smell mighty delish. We could have our way with them before we rip out their hearts."

Placing a fork and a spoon near another plate at the dining room table, Bertie shook her head with a look of disgust on her face. "Simon, I swear," she began to her brother-in-law. "You need to keep it together and hunt closer to home. It's not even a full moon yet."

"I'll hunt when and where I want," Simon replied, grabbing a handful of chips as he walked past the counter. "And I'm telling you right now, those girly hunters will taste sweeter than cherry pie."

His brother approached, running a clawed hand through his black hair. "Are they hunting you?" Eddie asked, "Are they a problem?"

"Not yet," Simon replied. "You know they will be. Let's just track them now and take them out."

Eddie was already shaking his head. "We're not hunting people anymore, man, you know that. We're going straight. Besides," Eddie brushed past his mate and touched her shoulder tenderly. "I am not losing Bertie. She's the only thing that matters to me."

"Leaving your own brother out in the cold."

"I wouldn't be if you came to our side," Eddie replied. "It's a pretty simple concept. The whole family is moving towards all-animals only. No human kills. You're the only one that hasn't agreed."

Simon reached out suddenly and knocked the bowl of chips off the counter and it shattered on the floor, spilling corn chips all over. "That's not how we work!" he snarled, turning on Bertie with his fangs bared. "We're fucking monsters! Let's act like it."

Shoving Simon to the wall, Eddie's growled back, "You do that again and I'll kill you myself."

"Fuck you, Eddie. I'm so sick of your shit," Simon replied, unflinching.

After a few more seconds of staring each other down, Eddie finally released his brother, backing away enough to stand in front of Bertie protectively. All eyes turned to Simon, an entire family of werewolves watching to see what would happen next. With a final grunt, Simon turned and threw himself out of the house, disappearing into the darkness.

…

Simon didn't come home for the next three days, letting the cycle of the moon take his phasing complete. He ran wild in the woods, hunting as many humans as he saw fit. There had been a jogger full of adrenaline, tasting almost as sweet as he was sure the hunters would taste. His heart had been delicious, and Simon wasted no time wanting another one. A homeless man was next; Simon took him before he knew what was happening.

The third night, running completely on instinct, Simon had let the wind carry him back to that motel where he had seen those hunter girls the first night of phasing. He waited in the parking lot for a while, biding his time, but that little red Toyota hadn't moved from its spot in the motel's parking lot. Finally, curiosity getting the better of him, he approached the tiny motel from the backside, and attempted to peek into the windows, even though the curtains were closed.

He could smell the girls through the walls; their sweet scent floating through the frigid air as the wind picked up off the lakes nearby. There was a possibility that they weren't even actively hunting him, and for that, he was disappointed. Simon had hoped that there would be a fight, but at this point, his curiosity was too much to take. He just _had _to get in that motel room.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"You hear that?" Serra whispered, nodding to the window.

Grace didn't even need to reply. Instead, she leaned towards the duffle of weapons and pulled out two of their newest purchases: a long, elegant letter opener, made of pure silver, and a short, stubby, pure silver blade, decorated with tiny emeralds and diamonds, which Serra had already decided on popping out to pawn later.

Watching her sister carefully, Serra took a slow breath. "How did you manage to afford those?" she asked quietly. "We didn't have any cash left."

"We had enough," Grace answered simply. "I cashed my subbing paycheck."

Leaning forward with a giant grin on her face, Serra noiselessly slapped Grace's knee. "You got paid? That's amazing! How much?"

Furrowing her eyebrows, Grace shook her head. "This isn't the time," she whispered, pointing to the window silently. "Try to stay focused."

Smiling, Serra nodded eagerly. "Werewolves," she whispered, mostly to herself. "Right."

Shifting her gaze back towards the window, Grace nodded silently to her sister and the two stood and padded to opposite sides of the glass window. The footsteps outside were almost as quiet as their own, and Grace could see the faint outline of the werewolf as it paced beside their motel room. She took a steadying breath, preparing herself for the fight they were about to have. Werewolves were wildly unpredictable and a lot stronger than most of the monsters the Browning sisters spent their time hunting. She usually avoided hunting them if she could; passing the word along to Tulley and Fred, another set of hunter friends that resided in the wilderness of Alaska, specializing in hunting the animal-human-hybrids.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced at Serra and nodded. She didn't know how she knew, but Grace squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the wolf's next move.

Shattering the window, the tall, lean werewolf leapt into the motel room, expecting to find the women lying on the beds, considering the hour. When he didn't immediately see them, he spun, searching the room frantically.

There they were, standing in defensive position with blades in each hand. For a moment, Simon panicked, wondering how he would deal with the mess he had gotten himself into, but then, the little brunette smiled.

And then she winked.

Suddenly, Simon was fueled by nothing but blind rage and hunger, launching himself at the smaller of the two female hunters. He outweighed her easily, but as he flew through the air, intent on landing hard enough to take her down, she changed positions and led with her left shoulder and a long, skinny knife in her right hand. Attempting to cushion his blow slightly, Simon spun in the air and redirected his knees, trying to kick the brunette to the floor. Her sister spun, slashing at him as he came down, cutting his cheek deeply. Snarling, Simon turned his attention to the tall blonde.

Chaos erupted in the small motel room.

Dodging and jumping away from the hunters, Simon couldn't comprehend the deftness with which the female hunters fought. They were lightning fast and seemed to communicate telepathically, always near each other to back the other's play as they danced elegantly around the room. Simon snarled and slashed with his claws and teeth, fighting now to just stay alive; his previous plans of feasting on the girls' hearts forgotten.

Ducking again away from the brunette, Simon decided it was in his best interest to forget about the hunters and make a break for it, just to keep from being murdered. He had obviously wildly underestimated the hunters; there was no way he would be able to hold off both of them for much longer.

"He's makin' a break for it!" the blonde one shouted, managing to put herself between Simon and the broken window, though that didn't slow him down. "Lucky!"

"You told me not to discharge!" the small brunette answered, pulling an engraved, silver-on-black Colt forty-five.

Whipping around to face the open window, the blonde watched as Simon tore into the night, running full tilt through the back parking lot and into the forest beyond.

Gritting her teeth, Serra shook her head, "We're gonna lose him!"

Out of breath, Grace, spun back to her sister, "There was a bike by the dumpster."

"You always say no motorcycles!" Serra argued again.

Jumping lightly through the broken glass window, Grace shrugged half-heartedly. "We're breaking all the rules tonight," she whispered, taking off running through the parking lot. "Make sure you're loaded. This is gonna be tight."

Grace skidded to a stop in front of the old motorcycle. "Oh my god," she gasped, "the keys are in it."

"Like it was meant to be," Serra laughed, gesturing with her gun. "Come on, come on!"

Throwing her leg over the bike, Grace turned the key and gunned the throttle, but immediately, the motorcycle stalled. "Shit," she grunted, holding in the clutch again. "This is why they left the keys."

Serra was practically vibrating next to her. "He's almost to the trees," she muttered, tapping her gun against her thigh as she watched the werewolf sprint. "Grace, come on."

Wrenching the key again, Grace cranked the motor again, begging the bike to stay running. Gunning it again, the Honda's engine whined, trying again and again to stall, but Grace held the throttle forward, continually revving the tiny bike's motor. Climbing onto the seat behind her sister, Serra balanced without holding on, bracing her boots onto the tiny rests behind the driver's pegs.

Immediately, Grace forced the motorcycle moving, revving the engine and shaking her head, "This is a terrible idea," she growled, finally getting the bike rolling. "Don't shoot me," Grace yelled to her sister as they gained speed.

Flicking the safety off her guns, Serra grinned from ear to ear, feeling the wind whip in her hair and adrenaline hit her blood stream. "Don't worry," she shouted back, over the whine of the engine. "I wouldn't waste the silver!"

Forcing the bike to shift gears again, Grace shook her head. "Alright, this is gonna happen fast, get ready," she instructed. "Wait until we get close enough."

From the trees, Simon glanced back, thinking he had put enough distance between himself and the pair of sisters. Slowing to a trot, he smiled, staring across the field, searching for their faces in the moonlight.

Then, from the hundred yard distance, Simon squinted as he heard the whine of an engine. "What the fuck?" he whispered. "How—?"

Turning back towards the forest, Simon took a deep breath and began running again, realizing the female hunters were in pursuit, riding a tiny, early nineteen-seventy-something Honda motorcycle. Grunting in effort, Simon cursed to himself again. How had he been so stupid?

…

The werewolf had disappeared into the trees, but that didn't slow down Grace Browning. She reached out with her senses, feeling the air around her. Incredibly intuitive, Grace had always had a better understanding, a better gut feeling about the monsters they hunted, but she attributed it to the fact that she was also a by-touch psychic. Her sister had never been jealous of her abilities, but had used them to their advantage for the last decade or so by keeping both of them safe. Serendipity, if nothing else, was the best little solider there was, taking orders well and being a better warrior than her sister could ever hope to be.

Together, the Browning sisters were nearly unbeatable.

"He's there," Grace muttered to herself, heading towards a distinct cluster of pine trees. "Water."

Serra pushed her dark auburn hair out of her face and leaned closer to hear her sister, "What?" she shouted above the whine of the Honda's engine as it struggled to keep pace with Grace's demands.

"Water!" Grace answered. "There's a stream. I feel like he's following the stream!"

Clicking her tongue and leaning forward to urge her sister on, Serra answered, "Well, don't wait for permission!"

Gunning the motor, Grace pushed the Honda beyond its horsepower. The sisters were gaining on the werewolf.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The smoke was thick around the poker table as the monsters leaned forward, listening intently to Eddie's story. He paused longer than normal, and Glenn took a breath, shaking himself from the reverent silence. "Well?" he demanded. "What happened next?"

Taking a long glance at his wife, Eddie sighed heavily. "I don't really know the details of what happened in the woods. I know the Brownings were on the motorcycle. I know they were loaded with silver, because that's what I found lodged in the trees around my dead brother, along with two silver bullets in his heart." Eddie wrinkled his nose, sniffling once, but his eyes were dry. "I could hear the shots from our place the forest, hunting miles away, but by the time we got to Simon, the Brownings had already found the cabin."

Pete, the grizzled old werewolf reshuffled the cards, taking the time to stack the deck neatly and then flip them from one hand to the other. He took a long drag from his cigarette and cleared his throat, grabbing the table's attention. "I can tell you what happened in the forest," he growled quietly, speaking for the first time in hours. The dim lanterns cast his deep, ragged facial scars in sharp relief, making him look more monstrous than his counterparts. "Those girls chased your brother down like an animal and corralled him against the trees. He fought back, getting a few good swipes in, and catching his teeth on his tongue, not their fair flesh, but nothing harsh enough to change their minds or slow their attack."

"How do you know?" Nannette whispered, her long dark braids falling into her face. She didn't bother to tuck them behind her ears.

Taking his cigarette from his mouth, Pete flicked the ashes into the tray next to him, and then took another deep pull from it. "How do I know?" he repeated. "I know because the Browning sisters were raised in this life. They know how to read a trail and how to lead a target. Grace Browning knows more about monsters than we do."

"Because they're hunters," Eddie stated, shaking his head.

Pete took his cigarette out of his mouth and pursed his lips, shaking his head solemnly. "Because she's a monster, too," he hissed.

…

Skidding to a stop, Serra pressed her hand to her sister's back, keeping her balance as Grace rested the bike against her outstretched leg, listening. Serendipity knew enough about her sister, even at seventeen, to know that she needed to let Grace listen to whatever it was that she could hear. More than often, she was able to pick up on the lost trail just on gut instinct.

This was one of those times.

"He's close," Grace whispered, tilting her head north, downwind from the stream they had followed through the trees. "He's breathing hard."

Serra closed her eyes, trying to pick up on the same sounds that Grace was obviously able to hear. She pressed her lips into a disappointed line, "I've got nothing," she replied into her sister's ear.

Extending the kickstand, Grace allowed the engine of the bike to die, filling the forest with silence. The wildlife had even quieted upon the sisters' arrival, giving Serra goose bumps as she waited for Grace to pick up the trail. Slowly, Grace pulled her leg over the bike and stood in the fallen pine needles, standing statue still; waiting for the sign that would push her into movement.

Serra followed blindly, still clutching both of her Colt forty-five pistols, covering her sister's back as they moved into a position away from the motorcycle. Without warning, Grace pivoted on the toe of her boots and her blue eyes shot open, staring into the moonlight that filtered down from the trees. She took off like a shot, Serra at her heels.

There was a screech of rage as Grace jumped over the stream. The werewolf they had been hunting locked eyes with her and attacked without another moment's hesitation; his claws and fangs fully extended and ready for the fight. Grace ran at him, tackling the wolf and taking him to the ground. They rolled, coming up on their feet as Serra tried her best to get a clear shot.

The werewolf screamed again as Grace dug her silver blade into his shoulder, too far away from his heart to cause a mortal wound. The werewolf back-handed her; hard enough to throw her to the ground, but Grace was resilient. Immediately, she bounced back to her feet, whipping the mud off of her hands with a flick of her wrists and took a deep breath. Grace Browning was now weaponless, though hardly unarmed. She stared at the werewolf as he pulled the four inch silver knife out of the depths of his shoulder.

"Serra," she stated.

The look on his face told Grace that he had forgotten her sister stood behind her, waiting for her opportunity to take a clear shot. Not doubting her sister for a second, Serra Browning fired two shots from each of her weapons; two for the werewolf's head and two for his chest, aiming right for his heart.

With a stifled yelp, the wolf huffed out his final breath, collapsing into the stream.

Very slowly, Grace blew out the air she had been holding and closed her eyes. Serra jogged to her sister and reached out with her left hand, still holding one of her guns. "You alright?" she asked quietly.

Nodding, Grace opened her eyes and sighed again. "Yeah," she replied, "you?"

"I wanna keep the bike," Serra replied.

Grace turned and shook her head, walking back towards the motorcycle. "No," she answered simply.

Serra pressed her lips together, gesturing back towards the body of the werewolf. "What are we gonna do with him?" she asked. "We can't just leave my bullets in him—cops'll start asking questions."

"The silver won't hold the striations of your guns," Grace replied, lifting her leg over the seat of the Honda once more. "It's too soft. Just leave him. He won't have a legit identity anyway."

In the distance, before Serra had a chance to answer, was a long, mournful howl travelling over the breeze. The girls hesitated and Grace rolled her eyes, looking exasperated. "Fuck," she whispered.

Serra grinned. "South, southeast," she murmured excitedly.

"I have a sub job tomorrow," Grace grumbled.

Bouncing over to the motorcycle, Serra gestured with her guns, "Well, then hurry up and then we can get gone."

"We hunted already! We did the job we went out to do and we were on our way _home,_" Grace argued. "I don't like this whole 'hunt on the way home' thing. It's _not _going to become a habit."

Serra shook her head, "Yeah, whatever," she answered. "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Grace parked the Honda away from the cabin as the sisters approached. They were silent as they moved through the trees, communicating through glances and gestures. Hesitating at the edge of the clearing, Serra turned to Grace, waiting for her next move.

Tilting her head, Grace Browning closed her eyes as she listened and attempted to take in as many details of their surroundings as they could. Being only about a half of a mile away from the well-made cabin told her that the end of the werewolf's trail was here; that somehow, they had stumbled onto an entire family unit of wolves.

An entire pack.

She took a deep breath and shook her head, staring at her little sister. They had never gone after an entire pack of werewolves before and she couldn't deny that it made her nervous. Serra only had four or five rounds of silver left and the three silver blades they had were on the small side.

This wasn't going to be easy.

Leaning close to her sister, Grace lowered her voice, quieter than a whisper. "I don't know about this, Lucky," she began, shaking her head. "This…this just seems stupid. Let's just call Tulley and have him and Fred handle it."

"Tulley and Fred are a thousand miles away and they are gonna be in the wind before they can get here," Serra answered, matching Grace's tone, trying her best not to be heard over the breeze.

"We're asking for it," Grace argued.

Grinning, Serra turned to her sister, "Well, think of it this way: would being a werewolf hunter be so bad?"

"I'd rather not be!" Grace whispered, tilting her head and making a face at her sister. "Would being a werewolf be so bad," she repeated under her breath. "Are you high?"

Serra clicked her gum. "Are you offering?"

Ignoring her sister, Grace took another step towards the house, lowering herself into the brush. "We go in fast, no hesitation. Kill what's there and get the hell out before any more come back." Turning, she furrowed her eyebrows at Serra. "If there was one out hunting, then there're probably more out here, too. We are _not_ waiting around for more to come back."

"Ugh, fine."

Without another second's hesitation, Grace took off towards the small cabin, lurking in the dark shadows, hiding herself away from the moonlight that streamed through the trees. Serra followed closely, splitting away from Grace as soon as they got close to the cabin. Holding her breath, Grace glanced into the window of the cabin, ducking again before anyone had a chance to notice that she was there.

_More than ten,_ Grace thought to herself, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

Serra questioned Grace with a look, quizzically tilting her head.

Holding up both hands and flashing ten fingers and then gesturing with her thumb, Grace motioned that there were more werewolves than they had ever taken on alone. Serra's wide, excited eyes were not the reaction that Grace was hoping for.

Closing her eyes once and nodding, Grace took a deep breath. She held up three fingers to Serra, counting down inaudibly.

_Three._

_ Two._

Grace and Serra bounced up from their position, kicking open the front door and letting loose on the unsuspecting werewolves. Three were in mid-shift, their backs broad and hairy, with claws growing quickly out of the tips of their fingers. Serra had fired four shots before the first werewolf even moved, each of her victims hitting the ground with sickening thuds.

Grace was not far behind her; lashing out with her two silver blades quickly. She jumped from victim to victim, stabbing each wolf in the heart deeply, with Serra following closely behind. She had holstered her empty gun and was doing everything in her power not to empty the cartridge. They could do this without bullets if necessary, but it was always nice having a few extra, just in case.

Finally, the werewolves seemed to catch on that they were under attack. They snarled and turned on the sisters, using claws and fangs to try and cause enough damage to drop one or both of the girls. Grace seemed to move like a dancer, spinning out of reach and stabbing as they lunged. Serra caught the victims as Grace passed, making sure that they had each breathed their last.

Standing in the middle of the living room was a final werewolf, breathing hard and baring his fangs. He stared at Grace, and Grace stared right back. From behind her sister, Serra stood silently, waiting for the next move, barely breathing, not even realizing that she was smiling.

The wolf tried his best to get control of the situation by stepping sideways; hoping to get a clear line for the front door, but the sisters adjusted their footing as well, moving together to keep him dead center in the living room. The wolf glanced over to the younger female, staring at her, wondering who would make the next move.

She winked.

Grace sighed heavily, knowing that Serra had just triggered the last fight. She rolled her eyes and braced herself as the wolf launched towards her sister. She ducked, lifting her arms, holding tightly onto both silver blades, dragging them down his chest and stomach as he leaped over her.

The wolf screamed in pain, curling against the knives, trying to change direction in midair. Grace tucked and rolled away, the werewolf following her closely. Without a thought, Grace lowered the weapons to her hips and turned, whipping them both into the wolf's exposed ribcage. With a final scream, he froze and collapsed to the floor, bleeding.

"Will you, for the love of all that's holy, _stop winking at them_?" Grace turned and lectured her baby sister, who pressed her lips together into a tight line, trying to suppress a smile.

"It's just so easy."

"What," Grace shook her head as she pulled both blades out of the werewolf's chest. "Getting a rise out of the fanged, clawed, easily irritable monster?"

Serra clicked her gum again.

"We need to get the hell out of here," Grace whispered, glancing around one final time. "Let's go. Back to the bike."

Pivoting on the toe of her boot, Serra fell into step behind Grace, jogging back out into the forest. From the edge of the opposite clearing, Eddie and Bertie watched from the shadows, tears streaming down both of their faces as they held their breath, waiting for the Browning sisters to leave.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The smoke hung around the poker table like a curtain, all of the monsters held their forks and knives in varying states of stares, some with steak at the end of their forks, some with a cigarette hanging out of their mouths. Every one of them was speechless.

Eddie took a slow breath, wiping his face with both of his hands, and then pushed his long, black hair out of his eyes. His eyes were wet, and he was doing everything he could to control his breathing. Telling that story again, after so many years, did nothing but bring back the scores of rage he held tightly in his chest. There was absolutely nothing he or Bertie would have been able to do back then. The Browning sisters would have killed them too.

Beside him, his mate held her face in her hands, breathing heavily through tears.

"How long's it been?" Pete asked softly, his gruff voice gentle for the first time.

Taking a ragged breath, Eddie leaned back in his chair. "Eleven years," Eddie whispered.

Nodding slowly, Pete stabbed the last bite of steak on his plate with his knife and held it to his mouth, considering it momentarily as juice dripped to his plate. "Eleven years," Pete repeated. Nodding slowly, he pushed the piece of meat into his mouth and chewed, still staring at the knife. "The Browning girls know their shit. They're some of the best hunters in the world, trained by their daddy and blessed with a certain set of skills that ain't necessarily human."

"You said that before," Glenn hissed. "What's that even mean, not human? They monsters too?"

Pete clicked his tongue. "There's some rumors floating around, since before the Apocalypse, that Grace Browning is a chosen person. That she's a cosmic being."

"And the sister?"

Shrugging, Pete lit another cigarette. "Her too," was all he said.

The monsters at the table turned to each other, discussing the latest turn of events among themselves. Finally, Glenn cleared his throat. "What about you, Pete?" he grunted. "Said you had yourself a story, too."

"I got lots of stories."

"About the Brownings?"

Pete pursed his lips. With the hand that held the cigarette, he gestured to the scars along the side of his face that ran down his neck, partially hidden by the rugged and wild, bristly gray beard. "About the Brownings," he agreed, nodding.

"You gonna tell us?"

Pete took a long drag of his cigarette and made a face, shaking his head once. "Nah, we already know the Browning girls are scary as shit."

Eddie leaned on his elbows to try and see the elder, "Then who? Who's worse than the Brownings?"

The poker table was silent, waiting with lungs full of air, for Pete to reveal his story. Slowly, Pete stubbed out his cigarette and took a long breath, steadying himself for the next tale. He lowered his head and tilted it to one side, popping his neck loudly.

"Well?" Eddie pressed. "We don't got all night. Who's worse?"

Pete's dark eyes flicked up to Eddie predatorily, a low growl escaping his lips. "Who's worse?" he repeated. "The fucking Winchesters."

The entire bar went silent, turning to stare at Pete with their mouths hanging open. "Pete," Nannette whispered, her voice cautious. "Ain't no one around, still livin' to tell about the Winchesters."

"I am."

…

Pete Tucker had been human once. He knew he had been, but it had been so many years since he remembered being in control, it didn't seem real anymore. He spent his life hunting now, out in the wilderness, picking off hitchhikers and women of the night. He chose a solitary lifestyle, not having to worry about anyone but himself.

His wanderings recently had taken him to a poor, dilapidated town in northern Idaho. The pine trees swayed in the autumn breeze and the chill bit through his coat. There was a new smell on the air; one of adrenaline and testosterone. Earlier, Pete had decided that it was time to move on, away from the town, but this new smell caught his attention.

Slowly, he made his way back towards the edge of town, keeping himself to the outskirts as much as he could, hiding himself in the tree line. Eventually, he found himself in the parking lot of a run down, by-the-hour motel and watched two young men get out of a glossy, black, classic muscle car. The shorter of the two stretched, reaching high above him from side to side and turning to the taller and smiling. As he stretched, the butt of a gun was barely visible in the waistband of the young man's jeans.

Hunters.

Pete had attacked and successfully destroyed too many of their kind to count, and he smiled to himself, thinking about how much better they tended to taste. The adrenaline that coursed through their system on a regular basis made them sweeter, somehow.

The taller of the two men ran a hand through his long hair and opened the trunk, reaching in and grabbing two duffels, momentarily facing the same direction where Pete hid among the trees. The tall hunter hesitated, narrowing his eyes and attempting to see into the darkness, forcing Pete to step back, further into the shadows.

"Hey, Dean," the tall hunter called quietly to his companion. "Did you see that?"

Turning, Dean squinted into the darkness. "See what?"

"There was something there, in the tree line. Big."

Pete moved closer to the tree and did his best to be as small as possible. The only reason he waited in the trees was to see which room the hunters ended up in, but more and more, his desire to flee was growing.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean patted his shoulder. "Let's get some shut-eye and we can start with the new big bad in the morning."

Tilting his head at the recognition of the names, Pete Tucker smiled. Sam and Dean Winchester were well known in the monster world, mostly for leaving no survivors. It would be his pleasure to make sure that tradition stopped with him.

…

"Newspaper says there were three bodies found out near the lumber yard," Sam Winchester explained as Dean brushed his teeth the next morning. "All of them missing their hearts. Ripped out right through their chest."

Lifting his left eyebrow, Dean nodded, then leaned forward to spit out the foam of his toothpaste. "Just like we thought," he answered. "Werewolf."

"Or werewolves."

Shrugging, Dean used the towel that draped around his neck to dry his hair. "Could be," he answered his brother. "Seems more like one, though. Just busy." He hung his towel on the edge of the door and walked to the bed, pulling on a plain black tee shirt. "Well," Dean continued, "how're we playin' this? In and out? Feds?" He picked up a crumbled blue plaid flannel and put it on. "Red Lips really caught my eye last night. She's gonna be waiting for me, you know."

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head. "We're not rushing this job just so you can get laid."

Dean gave a half-hearted, good-natured shrug and picked up his car keys. "I'm hungry," Dean answered. "Pig in a poke?"

"No thanks," Sam answered. "When you're done, I want to get to tracking this wolf. We have maybe two more nights in this moon cycle before he stops phasing."

"Or she," Dean argued, lifting his eyebrows again.

A strange look passed over his younger brother's face and Dean looked away, knowing female werewolves were still a touchy subject. There were times that Dean couldn't help but bringing up times that Sam had been wrong, but there were also times he had to remind his baby brother that Dean was right more often than not.

"Yeah, well," Dean added, breaking the awkward silence. "I'm gonna go get some grub. I'll bring some rabbit food back for you."

Lifting his hand, Sam waved him off, barely looking up when his brother shut the door.

…

Tucking himself back into the trees again, Pete Tucker watched as Dean Winchester left the motel room and headed to his sleek, black Chevy Impala. He couldn't lie; he could hardly wait to put some tears in those black vinyl seats, just to toy with his next meal.

Pausing to dig the keys out of his pocket, Dean turned towards the trees where the werewolf was hiding and hesitated, almost sensing something different in the air. Pete hid in the shadows, not wanting to give away his position too soon, but he cursed to himself, knowing that he had already been made.

He had heard stories about the Winchester brothers. There were stories about how they were faster than humans should be, almost predicting attacks before they were even made. There were stories about their bullets and blades and how fiercely accurate they were; whether they were shooting lead or silver, the weapons always seemed to find their targets. There were stories about Dean's rage and Sam's attention to detail. The stories made Pete a little nervous, but if it wasn't difficult, where was the fun?

Acting nonchalant, Dean opened the door to his car and took a deep breath in through his nose, almost testing the air. Pete watched as the hunter very calmly walked to the trunk of the car and unlocked it, opened it, and used a sawed off shotgun to hold a lid open from under the deck lid. He dug around in the trunk for a couple of seconds, looking up towards the woods occasionally, humming to himself. Disappearing behind the trunk of the car again, Dean used the momentary hiding spot to empty the rounds out of his Colt forty-five automatic's clip and reload them with silver bullets. His phone vibrated against his leg and without missing a beat, he answered it, held it between his shoulder and face, and continued loading his weapon.

"Why are you still in the parking lot?" his brother's voice came over the speaker without preamble.

Dean flicked his eyes towards the window of the motel room where Sam stood, staring out from behind the curtains. "It's out here with me," he replied, almost silently.

"What, the werewolf?" Sam clicked his tongue. "It's six-thirty in the morning."

"I don't think it's operating on normal hunting hours," Dean replied, pressing his lips together. "We had a theory that this wolf seemed a bit special, didn't we?"

"Like one of Eve's creations?"

Dean shrugged half-heartedly. "Could be," he replied. "Could also be that the theories just need some tweaking."

Sam sighed into the phone.

"You gonna come out here and help me or am I hunting this thing alone?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Sammy answered, hanging up the phone.

Dean lifted his eyebrows and mocked Sam, muttering to himself. He glanced over the trunk lid and took a deep breath, still smelling for the wolf. It was there; its musty, rust-smelling fur in desperate need of a deep clean. Something told Dean that the wolf had been shifted the entire moon phase, so lost in his blood lust that he didn't bother to be human while he could be wolf.

Using his thumb to flick the safety off the weapon, Dean nodded once to greet his brother and let the deck lid close and casually walking to the driver's side open door. "He's in the trees," Dean muttered, not looking up at Sam. "The problem is that if we take off after him, we'll lose him in the woods."

"Yeah, so how are we doing this?"

Shrugging, Dean chuckled. "How do you feel about him bringing the party to us?"

Sam turned and stared at his brother. "Not good."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, taking a deep breath. Without much warning, Dean aimed into the forest as accurately as he felt possible, firing two shots. The odds were completely stacked against him, but he _felt_ like the werewolf was directly in front of him. He figured, if he at least got a glancing blow, the wolf would cave, giving into the rage, and come straight for the both of them. If he played his cards right, Dean would be able to sink his silver knife deep into the werewolf's chest without another shot fired.

"What are you _doing?"_ Sam grit his teeth and hissed at Dean, whipping around the parking lot to see if anyone else came out of their motel room to see what the commotion was.

"Ours is the only car in the lot, Sammy. We're in the middle of Bumfuck, Idaho. Like you said," Dean turned and grinned. "It's six-thirty in the morning. I play my cards right," there was an audible growl, somewhere off in the distance, near the tree line, "we won't have to fire another shot."

Taking a deep breath, Dean holstered his gun and brought out a silver knife, about eight inches long. He leaned his head to each side, popping it twice. The growls in the distance got louder as Dean stepped to the side, closing his driver's side door. "Come on, Big Bad," he muttered under his breath. "I'll be your little piggy."

Sam was shaking his head as he turned to the trunk and opened it again, getting his own eight-inch silver blade. "This is bat shit, Dean."

"Probably."

The werewolf couldn't stand it anymore. His growls reverberated off the trees as he gave in to the bloodlust. More than anything, Pete wanted the Winchesters' hearts on a platter. The second shot Dean fired had been close; too close for Pete to be comfortable with. The silver had stung as it had split the skin of his bicep, and then traveled through the trees beyond where he stood.

He took off at a full sprint, hurling himself through the trees and out into the open towards the Winchester brothers. Snarling and growling as he lunged towards them, he eventually gave up keeping himself upright and collapsed to run on all fours.

As he ran, Pete could see the smug look on Dean Winchester's face, knowing that he had gotten his way and forced the werewolf out into the open. The more logical side of the wolf's brain argued with the ferocious, feral side. It seemed there would only be one way out of this: kill the Winchesters or die trying.

"Look at him go," Dean muttered, chuckling to himself. "I really pissed him off."

"Can you maybe not sound so proud of yourself?"

Clicking his tongue, Dean shrugged. "But I am," he commented, pulling the forty-five from his jeans and flicking the safety off. "No hunting necessary. Brought the party to us."

Sam couldn't help but admit he was right, "Man, he's really moving."

"Yeah, get ready."

Squaring his shoulders, Dean lifted his pistol with his left hand and though it was not his dominant hand, he took aim and fired twice, still ready with the silver knife in his right. The shots went wide, though, and only one found its target.

The werewolf yelped, stumbling once but finding his footing again almost immediately.

"Oh, here we go," Dean whispered, bracing himself for impact.

The werewolf launched himself towards the brothers, leaving the ground completely and sailing through the air towards them, fangs and claws bared as he attacked. Sam fired three times, wounding the creature in the shoulder and stomach, but it didn't even slow down. Dean turned, slicing the wolf across the chest, but not causing any mortal damage.

It was chaos.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Nothing seemed to slow the werewolf down. He continued to bite and slash, rolling around with both men. Pete got a couple good slashes in too, cutting Dean once across the shoulder and Sam across his forehead. Dean landed a solid kick as Pete launched himself into the air again, forcing the air from Pete's lungs as he hit the ground and slid through the gravel. As the werewolf came running back into the fight, he shoved Dean to the ground and attacked wildly, standing on one of Dean's legs to keep him in place. Sam fired three more times from his pistol, but the slide stayed back, proving that he was out of silver without making a kill shot.

"Stop wasting silver," Dean grunted, kicking the monster across the face yet again, spraying blood across the black paint of the Impala. "Shit's not cheap."

Sam didn't bother to reply as he tried again and again to stab Pete through the chest, but he was unsuccessful. Dean took over, flipping his blade in midair, catching it, and bringing it down hard through Pete's shoulder. The werewolf screamed in pain, the searing edge of the silver knife almost too much for him to handle. Dean took the opportunity to pull another silver knife out of the holster on his ankle and whip it towards the werewolf's face. It spun and found its target, forcing the werewolf to shriek once again. Pete suddenly realized that he was about to lose this fight and turned to run, but Dean tackled him to the ground, forcing both blades further into their wounds.

They burned so hot, Pete thought he might die just from the pain.

"Hey!" a voice suddenly called out, catching both brothers and the werewolf off guard. "Hey! What are you doing?"

There was a man jogging across the parking lot towards them, wearing the colors of the uniform that Sam recognized to be from the café of the motel, just across the street. Pete didn't waste any time. Using the claw of his right hand, he pushed at the side of his face, dislodging the small knife from his cheek, but the damage had already been done. There was a wound that stretched down his face, starting near his eye and ending just above his jawline. Blood was everywhere.

"What the hell kind of animal is that?" the man yelled, distracting the Winchesters once more. "Jesus! It's huge!"

"It's a, uh," Sam stuttered, glancing at Dean and trying to come up with a story. "I think it's a rabid wolf! Stay back, we've almost taken care of it!"

"I've got a twenty-two back in the motel's office!" the man replied. "I'll go get it and help!"

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to drive another blade into the werewolf's chest, but it was already too late. Pete had wriggled free, out of Dean's grasp, and stumbled away, still in incredible pain. The silver knife that he had been stabbed with in the shoulder was bleeding freely. Pete could feel the stream of blood down his arm and onto his fingertips, dripping onto the pavement and creating a small trail. He jogged away from the brothers, whimpering as he did.

"Gimme another clip," Dean muttered, pushing himself up from the ground and limping to the trunk. "We're gonna lose him in the trees."

"Let's just go after him," Sam answered, hobbling next to his brother. "He's wounded. We can take him."

Dean clenched his jaw, unwilling to admit defeat. "Dude crushed my ankle," he muttered, watching the man from the café jog back with his small caliber rifle. "If it's not broken, I'll be surprised. There's no way I can run after him without bein' a tempting last meal."

From behind the brothers, the man with the twenty-two-rifle raised and aimed the weapon, firing twice before grunting and lowering the gun. "Man, sumbitch is big."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "You're not gonna take him out with that."

"He's still in range," the man argued, raising the gun once more and firing again. "Damn, he's too far out."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances and shook their heads at each other. Noticing the trunk was still open, Dean pulled the sawed off out from the plywood cover and let it fall closed, showing only their duffle bags from the hunt and hiding the stores of weaponry and supernatural hunting equipment below.

"Nice try, boys!" the man turned and extended a hand to Sam. "Name's Loren! I own this here fine establishment. Thanks for tryin' to defend it."

Sam pressed his lips together and took Loren's hand, shaking it once. "Hello," he sighed. "Yeah, sure. No problem."

Licking his lips and running his hand through his receding hairline, Loren huffed out a breath. "I should probably call animal control, huh? Don't want that creature running around anymore, scaring the living piss outta anyone."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances once again. "Yeah, totally," Dean agreed. "Why don't you go call it in and we'll just clean ourselves up so we don't track blood onto your carpet."

"I appreciate that."

As soon as Loren was out of earshot, Sam leaned closer to his brother. "He'll bleed out, right?" he asked, nodding towards the woods.

Shrugging with one shoulder, Dean grimaced as he bent to inspect his ankle. "Could be," he agreed. "I got him deep in the shoulder with that silver eight-incher. Sting's probably more than he can take, not to mention the wound across his face." Dean thought about it for a minute, and then continued. "He'll probably be dead before midnight, right around the time his body will phase back. With any luck, he'll die as a wolf and no one will know the difference."

"We're taking a risk on this, letting him go back to the woods."

Dean swallowed and nodded. "I know it, but there's not much we can do now that Mr. I Own a Twenty-Two has us made." He gestured to his ankle. "And this ain't fun either. I didn't wanna to do this hunt in the first place, now I just wanna go lay down, order some Pay-Per-View, and drink until it doesn't hurt anymore."

Taking a deep breath, Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, alright," he agreed tentatively. "I'd like to hang out a few days, just to make sure he's dead."

"Whatever you want, Sammy," Dean muttered, limping back towards their motel room. "Whatever you want."

Crossing into the trees, Pete was whimpering and limping, just trying to stay on both feet. He had managed to make it to a fallen log and sat down beside it, holding his face with his hand. He felt like had lost a lot of blood; the trees swam before him, making it difficult to focus. Slowly, he reached up with his free hand and clasped the silver knife, trying to pry it from his shoulder. It didn't budge.

Pete's breath came in shallow gasps, trying to keep control of the pain, but it was almost too much to handle. Forcing himself to let go of his ragged, bleeding face, Pete used both hands to grasp the silver blade and took a few short breaths, trying to ready himself for what he was about to do.

Clenching his jaw and doing everything he could to wriggle the knife back and forth out of his clavicle, Pete snarled, trying to get the knife free. Finally, after about twenty grueling, pain-filled minutes, the werewolf dropped the heavy knife to the forest floor and weaved, feeling dizzier than ever. He reached up to catch himself on the tree trunk near him, but missed, landing somewhere among the pine needles, covered in blood and dirt. He wasn't conscious long enough to realized that his body had phased back to his human form, naked against the chill of the morning air.

…

All the faces around the poker table were open-mouthed, watching Pete Tucker finish the last line of his story. The low-hanging lanterns forced into sharp relief the jagged scars across his cheek, starting from under his eye and winding its way down to his jaw, making him look much more menacing than your average dive bar owner. Slowly, Pete reached down, underneath the poker table and pulled out an eight-inch silver blade. The hilt had once been covered in gemstones, but the mountings were the only remnant of visible evidence. The stones had obviously been chiseled out, probably pawned for as much as they were worth. Pete tossed the knife onto the table and it forced a neat stack of poker chips to collapse and slide across the green felt, spreading a neat path as they did.

"That was in your shoulder?" Glenn asked quietly. "It's fucking huge."

Pete nodded slowly. "After I phased, it was easier to take out. Passed out long enough to clot, then I pulled it out when I was human again." Reaching up, he tugged roughly on the collar of his white tee-shirt and denim jacket, exposing a large, ugly, misshapen scar that ran the entire length of his shoulder to his neck. "Still can't lift this arm all the way up."

"It's a wonder you're still alive, Pete," Nannette shook her head, speaking quietly. "No one walks away from the Winchesters."

"No shit," Glenn agreed. "I mean, he barely walked away."

Eddie took a deep, ragged breath and leaned back into his chair. "You know, I heard a rumor a few years back."

Pete flicked his dark eyes towards the younger werewolf. "A rumor?" he asked.

Nodding, Eddie pursed his lips. "Heard the Winchester boys settled down. Got themselves a nice little farm house in Kansas."

"What, are you saying we go out and take revenge?" Glenn asked, chuckling aloud. "That's the stupidest idea I ever heard."

"That's not what I'm sayin' at all, you nitwit," Eddie argued. "I'm about to explain if you can hold your tongue for a minute."

The table was silent again, waiting for Eddie's explanation. He glanced sidelong at Bertie. She nodded silently, still staring at the silver knife that rested on top of the felt-covered table.

"Tell 'em, Eddie. It's best they all know," she whispered. "Maybe if they know, everyone will stay alive a bit longer."


	11. Chapter 11

::Hello all! This chapter wraps _Ante_. Thanks so much for reading this fun little story-it's been an idea for awhile, so it was fun to finally get down. Hope you enjoyed it. There's a couple other little fun stand-alone, monster-of-the week stories I have in process right now, too, and I finally started writing a sequel to _Ashes_, but it's gonna take some time to get that one wrapped up. Thank you so much for all your reads and follows. Drop a review or a comment! Let me know what you think! Thanks so much!

love and internetty hugs,

TheGirlWithTheDinosaurTattoo::

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Chapter 11

"Well?" Glenn pressed. "What's the rumor?"

Leaning forward across the table, Eddie toyed with a poker chip, setting it up on its edge and trying to get it to spin. "Well," he sighed, shrugging with one arm. "I heard that the Winchesters found themselves a couple of women. Got married and popped out some young. Between them, I heard there's six pups."

"Six?" Glenn repeated, shaking his head and leaning away from the table. "They got busy, huh?" He laughed at his own joke. "Practically a litter."

Nodding, Eddie suppressed a grin. "Yeah," he added. "And the women they married are sisters."

"Sisters married brothers? Sounds kinda desperate."

Eddie grinned, happy that no one at the table seemed to know the ending to his newly acquired gossip. "Yeah, well, it was appropriate. Fitting, if you will."

"Why is that?" Pete asked, genuinely curious about who the Winchester brothers could have married.

Eddie licked his lips. "Because the two sets of siblings have quite a bit in common, you know," he breathed. "Shared interests, if you will."

Slowly, comprehension dawned on Pete and his eyes widened at the conclusion he drew in his mind. "No," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "It can't be."

"Can't it?" Eddie asked, tilting his head towards the elder wolf.

Glenn held up his hands, "Whoa, whoa," he called across the table. "I missed it. Who'd they marry?"

Taking a deep breath again to steady himself, Eddie couldn't help but allow a small smile to creep across his face. Finally, he breathed, "The Browning sisters."

You could have heard a pin drop inside the trucker bar; everyone at the booths, at the bar, and at the poker table turned to face Eddie, their mouths hanging open in shock.

Even Holly, the vetala waitress, gasped and covered her mouth, "No," she answered.

"It's true," Eddie leaned away from the table again, smiling knowingly. "Me and Bertie, we were in Wisconsin earlier this month and heard that they were heading up, lookin' for their kid. Some bitch witch took one of them and every hunter that owed either family a favor was with them, tryin' to hunt down their boy." Eddie used his claw to pick at his front teeth. "The Brownings have become Winchesters. Fucking nuts, right?"

Before he had a chance to continue, the back door of the bar opened, allowing a sliver of light to pass into the darkness, calling every monster's eye to follow its origin point. There, in the doorway, were four figures, filing into the bar, their boot steps echoing in the near silent room.

"Happenin' place," a deep, rumbling voice commented as he found himself a place near the poker table. "Evening," he greeted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

The tall blonde woman who stood next to him tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as they raked around the table, seeing each player in turn. Slowly, she took a breath and turned towards the smaller of the two women, exchanging a long, knowing look, then turning to the first man once more and lifting her eyebrows.

"Can I help you?" Holly greeted without smiling. "Not much room left in here."

Turning slightly to reveal an opalescent shimmer behind her, the tall blonde took a deep breath as the man beside her reached behind him, untucking something from his waistband. "Shame," she began carefully. "We could use some grub."

"Nothing in here you'd fancy," Holly argued as she flicked her eyes to Pete.

There, standing in front of them, were none other than Dean and Sam Winchester, flanked by Grace and Serra Browning. The entire bar held its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dean and Grace shared another look, ending with Grace tilting her head and lifting a single eyebrow.

"That is a shame, isn't it, Gracie?" Dean muttered, taking in the entirety of the bar and doing a headcount as he did so. There were too many monsters to take on all at once, but with the two angels tucked safely in his beck and call, Dean felt confident that he and his family would come out on top. "Especially since we've been driving for a long while now and could really use a bite."

"That's an interesting choice in words," Pete answered, finally making his voice heard. "But like Holly here said, not much here for you to have."

"Oh, come on, Dean," the small brunette whispered. "We could take them."

"Serra, just hold on," Sam Winchester held her by her shoulder, keeping her from drawing one of her matching silver-on-black, Colt forty-fives. "Everything's fine. We're fine."

"Yes, everything is fine," Pete echoed. "You can get something for the road, if that's how you wanna play it."

Dean and Grace took deep breaths, almost identically. They both stared at Pete for longer than was necessary, but finally, Dean attempted to suppress a smile. "Something for the road then," he commented. "So we're ready to fight another day."

Pete and Dean locked eyes and right then and there, Pete Tucker knew that Dean Winchester recognized him from all those years ago; the scar running down his cheek giving him away. Dean didn't move, though, but narrowed his eyes, staring at the werewolf for longer than was necessary.

Nodding in agreement, Pete spoke, "Yes," he added. "For another day."

The younger Browning obviously did not agree, folding her arms across her chest and sighing heavily. "Whatever," she whispered, knowing the decision was already made.

The bartender scooped up another monster's order, wrapping it tightly in grease paper and throwing it all into a paper bag. He added two large scoops of French fries, fresh out of the fryer, and rolled the bags, closed, sliding them down the bar.

Grace walked to the bags, scooping them up and smiling gently. "Smells good," she commented, talking directly at Eddie and Bertie. The two werewolves broke eye contact and stared down at their hands.

Serra whipped her dark hazel eyes to Grace, widening them to get her sister's attention. Slowly, Grace shook her head and sighed, a light smile at the corners of her lips. "We've still got a long way to go, Lucky," she answered her sister's thoughts. "I just want to go home to the kids."

Taking a deep breath, Serra grit her teeth. "Home to the kids," she repeated, nodding slowly. "Sure."

Grace smiled as she turned towards her husband. "It's a nice place," she commented. "We'll have to come back sometime and enjoy the ambience."

"Oh, you know it, gorgeous," Dean answered, winking at Pete as he put a hand on the small of his wife's back. "Got my eye on that booth there in the corner."

With that, the Winchesters and the Brownings turned and filed out the door, letting it close behind them without another word said. Collectively, the monsters in the truck stop let out the breaths they were holding and leaned their heads back, closing their eyes in relief.

Pete let his eyes remain shut, letting the flood of respite fill his chest. He had never thought, not in a million lifetimes, that he would ever see the Winchester brothers step into his bar, onto his territory. He forced his panicked breath to slow and the pounding of his pulse in his ears to cease. Looking around at his place, and at each of the creatures that filled it, he prepared his goodbyes, because come sunrise, this bar would just be another abandoned truck stop in the wilderness of Minnesota.


End file.
